


Stress

by Corvid_Knight



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Disordered Eating, Disordered Sleeping, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, They love each other so much, Trauma, karkat is very patient with his boyfriend, my tumblr is knight-of-heart-and-art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 04:26:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12856728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: Sometimes Dave has...problems.





	Stress

He gets like this sometimes.

  Dave’s been keeping weird hours for the past few days, by which you mean he isn’t fucking sleeping so far as you can tell. He’ll come to bed with you, but you wake up, halfway through every night, and he’s not next to you. Sometimes he’s hunched over his laptop across the room; sometimes he’s just gone to somewhere else in the hive that you both share. If he sees you awake, he comes back, but as soon as he can he’s gone again. 

He won’t tell you about it. Or maybe it’s that you don’t know how to ask. He doesn’t want to talk at all, lately, and he’s wearing his shades all the time, indoors as well as out…has he even left the hive in the last week or two? 

You don’t know. This whole state of affairs makes you uncomfortable, makes you worry about Dave more than you have in a long time, and you fucking hate it. He’s on edge, and you’re on edge, and neither him nor you should have to be like this. Not anymore. That you don’t know how to fix him is driving you up the fucking wall. 

  Maybe this is a human thing. 

  It’s not one of the good human things. 

  Maybe it’s a Dave thing. Honestly, there are a lot of those—ones you love, ones that are just weird, and ones that you can only put up with by gritting your teeth and reminding yourself that yes, you love this idiot more than you love life. This would be either one of those last or a fourth category, the kind of thing that you’d give your right hand for him to be free of. There’s only a few things on that list. 

Mostly, you’ve been working around this new strangeness and hoping Dave works it out, or lets you help. When you figure out that he’s been stashing the meals you thought he was eating in the fridge, though…at that point you give up on the awkward dancing around pointing out that he has a problem, and start searching the hive for him. His not sleeping right will iron itself out in time, not talking to you is…well, worrying but understandable—but he’ll hurt himself like this, and you can’t stand still and let that happen. You know Dave almost always hates it when you go into full lusus mode on him, but you’re worried and a little scared, and you can’t think of any other way to do this.

  Still, you didn’t expect to find him at the kitchen table, staring at his laptop and not making the slightest move to wipe away the tears streaming down his face. Either he doesn’t hear you come in or he doesn’t care, because as you come up behind him, all he does is twitch the computer mouse slightly, adding a few more lines to whatever he’s working on. 

  He’s working left-handed, too. He almost never does that anymore, unless it’s for Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff. One more wrong thing to worry over. 

  "Oh, Dave.“ He jerks when you say his name, cursor darting up to minimize the window, but other than that he doesn’t move. "Talk to me? Please?” 

  Dave just shakes his head, but when you move behind him and put your hands on his shoulders, he reaches up to wrap his fingers around your wrists, pulling until you’re leaning closer to him and your arms are circling his chest. He’s still quiet for a good few minutes, just holding your wrists as if he’s afraid you’ll let go of him otherwise. 

  "Dave—"

  "Karkat.“ He leans back a bit, glancing up at you. His face is still wet, but his eyes are dry for the moment, if very bloodshot. ”…love you.“ 

  "I love you too.” Dave won’t let go of your hands, so you lean over to give him a gentle, upside-down kiss on the forehead. “You’re making me worry, though—” 

  "Damn. ’m sorry.“ 

  "Shoosh. I know this isn’t something you mean to do. Dave, all I want you to do is talk to me. Tell me how things are wrong, so we can fix them.”  

  Dave’s got his eyes closed now, has since you leaned in to kiss him, and he doesn’t seem to want to open them. If it weren’t for his grip on your wrists, you’d think he fell asleep between one of your sentences and the next. You wish he had. That might be close to the best thing for him. 

It’s at least another minute or two before he sighs and says quietly, “I don’t know, man. ’s all piling up on me again, you know?” He shifts a little, hands tightening on you for a second. “The old shit. The fuckin’ game.” 

  "That’s over, Dave.“ When you kiss his forehead again, he relaxes just enough to let you slip one hand out of his grip. Dave flinches when you touch his face, but he goes still after that, letting you wipe the tears away. "I know it doesn’t feel like it sometimes, even after all this time, but I swear. It’s done.” 

  "Yeah. I know. Half of me, anyway.“ He swallows, shakes his head, and keeps talking even though his voice gets a touch hoarser with every word. "It's—always there, you know, we’ve talked about this shit? I can—tell myself I’m out, I’m done, that shit’s over with, but there’s times I just—every fuckin’ moment I keep thinkin’ I’ll turn around and—it w-won’t be—” 

  Dave’s voice cracks and he stops talking, biting down on his lip hard enough that you worry he’ll make himself bleed, clinging to your arm. He’s crying again, pretty much soundlessly other than his uneven breathing. Those small noises that he does let out hurt as much or more than if he’d been sobbing. There isn’t much you can do for him right now, though, other than come around to squeeze between him and the table, whispering shooshes at him and wiping at his face as gently as you can. 

  Eventually his breathing evens out again and he relaxes. A little. He lets go of you with one hand, letting his head drop to one side and rubbing at his eyes. 

  "Come here,“ you tell him, and he nods, letting go and waiting just until you take your hand away before he leans forward. If you weren’t there, he would’ve ended up on the floor. 

  "Tired,” he mumbles into your shirt, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. “God, I’m soft…used to be able to deal, go longer'n this, no problem, but ’m so fuckin’ tired…’m sorry.” 

  "Shh. It’s okay.“ He’s mostly limp, not heavy enough to make picking him up difficult; he curls against you when you lift him off the ground, not opening his eyes. "Here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going to lie down and I’m not going to let you up until you’ve had at least a couple hours sleep—” 

  "Couch.“ Dave shakes his head slightly, tightening his grip on you a bit. "On the couch, okay? Please?” 

  "Okay, of course—as long as you sleep. And when you wake up, you’re going to eat.“ 

  "Not hungry.” He won’t let go of you when you try to put him down, so you just sit down on the couch and lean back, lying down with Dave curled up on top of you. “Don’t want—” 

  "Dave. Shoosh. You need to eat, babe.“ 

  You’re not sure what he mumbles back, but it kind of sounds like him questioning the logic of your calling him a human endearment that doesn’t actually have any meaning or equivalent in your culture. Even when he’s tired, he’s a snarky asshole. A sweet snarky asshole. 

  "Go to sleep.” 

  Actually, you think he’s out already. Good. 

  Dave’s got his head turned to one side, pressed against your chest as if he’s listening for your heartbeat, at just the angle for you to be able to see his face. You brush a lock of his white-blond hair away from his eyes—fuck, but his skin’s barely warmer than a seadweller’s; you’ve lived with him for sweeps and that still surprises you sometimes. The shadows under his eyes are purple, too, even though you know his blood’s as red as yours. He might as well be royal, so far as you care—even though he’s outside the hemospectrum and the game gave him the class of Knight rather than one of the nominally more important ones, he’s better than any highblood or prince in your eyes. 

It kills you when he falls apart like this. 

  At least you’re okay at putting things back together. You’ve gotten him through the first step—sleeping, resetting some part of the cycle he gets set in of feeling like shit from lack of sleep and not sleeping because he feels terrible—and right now all you need to do is wait. 

  You’re not often a patient person, but this is for Dave. And honestly, you haven’t been sleeping all that well either, without him. It’s very easy to doze off with him curled loosely across you. You just hope your purring doesn’t wake him. 

  Over the sweeps that you’ve lived with Dave, you’ve learned that he has an innate ability to keep track of the passage of time, whether or not he has any reference points. Either it’s something genetic, or part of his relationship with his aspect, you don’t know; either way it’s a part of him. Unfortunately, you don’t have that talent, so you haven’t the foggiest idea how long it’s been when you come awake again.   
  Long enough for your neck to be sore. Damn couch. 

  That becomes less important almost immediately when you realize that Dave is, actually, awake, despite the fact that he’s barely moving. “Barely” is the key word,  though…he’s trembling, both hands clenched in your sweater and face pressed against your chest. Crying, pretty much silently. 

  You’ve already got your arms around him; that’s how you sleep when you can. Dave gasps a little, a wet sound that could be called a sob, when you shift under him to hug him a bit tighter. 

  "Dave, are you—" 

  "Uh-uh.“ He shakes his head as much as he can without raising his face from your sweater. "A m-minute…give, give me—” 

  "Shh, yeah. Okay.“ That’s an answer to the question you didn’t quite finish, even if he didn’t mean it that way. "It’s okay. We have time.” 

  Dave doesn’t respond to that at all, but maybe his shaking eases a little when you reach up to start running your fingers through his hair, trying to calm him. That’s harder to do than you expected; his hair’s messy, as tangled as if he’s been ignoring it for days. He probably has been…deal with that later.

It takes what seems like a long time for him to stop shaking and relax enough to let go of your sweater. Once he does, you let him just lie there for a minute or so before you ask the same question again.

  "Are you okay, Dave?“ 

  For another second he doesn’t answer. Then he raises his head, blinking blurrily at you and forcing a small smile. "Got you all gross, Karkat,” he says, almost softly enough to disguise how rough his voice is. “Sorry…” 

  "I’ve had worse,“ you tell him, and pull him up enough that you can kiss him gently. He’s damp, and tastes vaguely of salt, and chuckles weakly against your lips before you pull back to look at him. "Besides, that’s what washing machines are for, right?” 

  "Mm.“ Dave sighs, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours, blinking slowly. "You’re an angel, you know that?” 

  "Am not.“ Damn but his eyes are perfect even when they’re sleepy and half-focused. "Human angels have wings. And stupid floating crown things…did you have a nightmare?” 

  "Nah.“ He shakes his head without moving his forehead away from yours; the answer’s quick but you still think he’s being truthful. "No dreams…woke up awhile ago…I was thinking, y'know? ‘Bout everything that happened and, uh…stuff that didn’t, not for you. And Karkat, fuck, I know that it’s all over and that shit was—was years ago, but sometimes I just—” 

  Dave stops. Takes a deep breath and holds it for a few seconds, closing his eyes. You don’t know what to say right now; you just have to hope that holding him is enough. He isn’t crying now, at least. That’s something. 

  "Time works different in your head, huh?“ you ask softly after a moment, and he nods without pulling back or opening his eyes. "We’ll work this out, Dave. Promise.” 

  Another nod, and he sniffles a bit and pushes himself up, rolling off you to sit on the edge of the couch and rubbing at his eyes. You want to pull him back, fold him up in your arms and talk him into believing that he’s safe—fuck, not even talk, just hold him and tear the shit out of anything that thinks it can come after him—but instead you sit up next to him, rubbing at your neck for a moment. 

  "Love you, 'Kat,“ Dave says before you can say anything, leaning against you. 

  "I love you too, dumbass.” Dave laughs at that, like he does almost every time you use insults as sincere terms of endearment; you wait until he stops to continue. “So. What do you want to eat? And if you say 'nothing,’ I’m going and programming the alchemizer to spit out one of every even vaguely edible item in its database.” 

  He literally had his mouth open to say just that, and now he’s trying very hard to stifle a laugh, almost choking on it. “Would that be edible by your standards or mine?” 

  Laughing is good.

  "Terezi’s,“ you say as seriously as you possibly can. 

  "Oh god no.” That comes out as dead serious as you were pretending to be, and then he’s just laughing, whacking your shoulder gently with one hand. “F-fucking pickled egg and chalk pizza, goddamn…” 

  He’s destressing, it’s not funny enough for the reaction he’s giving it, but you’re still smiling and trying to swallow the purr in your chest as you watch him. Dave doesn’t laugh for as long as he cried, but he stops almost the same way, tapering off slowly as he wipes at his eyes. 

  "You didn’t answer the question, babe,“ you prompt him when you’re pretty sure he’s done. "Unless you wanted pickled-egg-and-chalk pizza.” 

  Dave snorts, shaking his head. “Let’s not. But yeah, pizza’s good. Or something from Earth…y'know, hot and fast, really good but gonna be really bad for me in the long run, tastes like not caring about the long run.” 

  "Food poet.“ He rolls his eyes at you when you lean over to kiss him. "Human fast food, got it. Go wash your face, put on a clean shirt, and meet me in the kitchen when you’re done, okay?” 

  "Oh.“ Dave blinks, looks down at himself, and nods as he gets to his feet. "Oh, yeah…give me, like, ten minutes. Think I need more than a quick face-wash.” He glances at you as he says it, like he’s not sure that’s okay. 

  "Take your time. It’s fine.“ You watch him, and wait until he shuts the bathroom door before you get up off the couch. Time to see exactly how much Dave-comfort-food is in the memory bank for the alchemizer…if there isn’t enough, you’re fully prepared to get online and pester every other human who remembers old Earth for more codes. 

  Actually, though, the alchemizer has a lot of codes for what you need. Like. Fuck. A lot. You don’t bother to consider the choice you’re making for more than a second before you start queuing every item that fits your criteria. 

  …oh wow that’s a lot. 

  You’re absorbed enough in moving food that you don’t hear Dave come up behind you until he reaches up to wrap his arms around your shoulders. "Holy shit,” he says softly. “I know I’ve got a rep for being able to eat everything in sight, but I think you might be overdoing it, Karkat.” 

  A container of fried potato sticks—they don’t look like french fries but you guess they might be—materialize on top of the fried burrito thing that you haven’t moved yet. Not that there’s anywhere else to move it to. 

  "…yeah, I think you’re right for once.“ You shrug, careful not to shake him off, and reach over to cancel whatever else the machine has left to dispense, snagging the weird fries and popping one into your mouth before pushing the packet into Dave’s hand. "This is what happens when you give me vague instructions, Dave. Pure chaos.” Holy fuck those potato sticks are spicy. 

  "Chaos,“ Dave repeats, letting go of you and examining what you’ve handed him before tasting one of the fries. "Oh my god, I haven’t have these in ages…” Apparently he’s immune to whatever spices are currently burning your mouth. By the time that you’ve filled and drained a glass of water four times, he’s eaten the full container and is considering the remaining selection of food. “Uh…want to pick something else, split out with me?” 

  "Sure.“ If it gets him to eat, definitely…there’s a few things you’re curious about, mostly ones that you couldn’t quite identify. You’d set those aside, and now you pick up one of the plain white takeout boxes—some kind of round fried things, with a smaller container of dipping sauce. "How about these?” 

  Dave stares at them for a second, then looks up at you. “You have no idea what those are, do you?” he asks, grabbing one and dunking it in the sauce. 

  "Uh…mushrooms?“ They look kind of like fried mushrooms, you think. You pick one up and bite into it—no, that’s definitely meat. Good, but…"Never mind, not mushrooms.”

  "Oh, yeah, not mushrooms.“ Dave’s already on at least his third fried meat thing, talking with his mouth full. "See, these’re like a Texas thing, Texas an’ around there. Southwestern, maybe? Call 'em rocky mountain oysters.” 

  You have had oysters, several ways, including raw and fried. “Dave, these aren’t oysters.” 

  "Nah, course not.“ Him laughing with his mouth full is several orders of magnitude worse than him just talking, but at least he’s got the common sense or courtesy to cover his mouth. That grin is almost certainly for a joke about the tasty meat orbs that you’re not in on. 

  You’re suddenly not sure you want to put the one that you’re holding into your mouth. "So…what are they?” 

  Dave doesn’t answer for a minute, probably because he’s chewing, so you decide you might as well eat it while you’re waiting, though. The result of this decision is that your own mouth is full when he oh-so-sweetly says, “You know earth cows, right? Bulls are male cows, rocky mountain oysters are fried bull testicles.” 

  He has the grace to catch the container as you drop it and make sure that it only sounds like you’re choking to death before he starts laughing.

**Author's Note:**

> he's a mess and I love him almost as much as Karkat does


End file.
